The little salesman buzzed into my hotel room exactly at 10. He must have been waiting in the corridor, ambushing the second-hand. I watched from my deep chair in the corner while he slid open his raincoat, lifted it neatly off his back (the casual shrug wasn't his style), and stood with it hanging from his forefinger. With a bright, apologetic smile he hung it up in the alcove behind the door. I decided not to object to his using the hook without asking; it'd just slow things up.…
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